In the current issue of Poets and Writers (sorry, article not on line), Tova Mirvis discusses writers who habitually wrote/write in bed, among them, Mark Twain, James Joyce, Edith Wharton, Colette and Mirvis herself. This appeals to me.
I love being in bed: I could easily spend my life moving (languidly) between bed and the garden, making necessary stops at the kitchen and the bathroom. I have written in bed, though it isn't my habit. Now I'm thinking, why not? The fact that my back gets sore can be remedied with sufficient pillows. I have a wooden lapdesk from Levengers which Jim got me a Christmas or two ago (and which I use daily--for eating in front of the TV, watching The Daily show!) But why not actually mix work with pleasure, dreams with consciousness--and do so wearing pajamas!
I am writing this from bed now. I had a colonoscopy today and am groggy from anesthesia. But really, I'm using an available excuse to be where I most love to be. I'm thinking I should do this (sans colonoscopy) more often.